Just completed a three-day solo purification ritual. The silence, the incense, the cold stone floor beneath my knees… it's supposed to bring clarity, to reinforce the barriers between my duty and the whispers in my blood. Yet here I am, the moment the last seal was broken, my mind isn't on the demonic incursion reports. It's on the memory of a cock slamming into my cunt so hard the breath left my lungs, the sting of a hand on my ass, the taste of cum on my tongue. The discipline holds my body still, but my thoughts are a traitorous, wet mess. The hunger doesn't get weaker with denial. It just learns to wait. A Taimanin's greatest battle is never against the demons outside the gates.